


Hours in a Day

by vtn



Category: Hello Time Bomb (Music Video), Matthew Good Band, Sloan (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-16
Updated: 2007-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Good needs something that will make him feel again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hours in a Day

**Author's Note:**

> AU. Takes place in something vaguely like the universe of the "Hello Time Bomb" video, because Matt is a gas station attendant. For [](http://wtf27.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://wtf27.livejournal.com/)**wtf27** prompt #15, Hookers.

**01.30:** _The TV screen is as blank as his head and it goes on and on._

On the bed is his body, he's dimly aware, being washed clean by a pretty ageless boy with a pretty pink tongue who talks every moment his mouth isn't exploring some part of Matt. It's why Matt picked him, him instead of one of the waxed curved women or the Lolitas-on-acid he knew where to find—the boy is defective; it makes Matt less sorry for himself.

"What am I doing wrong?" the boy asks, blinking through long lashes, somewhere between dumb and demure. "I'll do anything, baby; I'm yours tonight."

"Nothing," Matt mutters, and he wonders why the boy even asked until he realizes his cock is still limp between his legs. Pale, stiff mannequin legs, it looks like. Maybe he should have gone to a spa instead with the money. Or bought a gun. "Take off your underwear," he says, distractedly. "What's your name? The one on your driver's license, not whatever stupid girl name someone told you to use."

"I don't have a driver's license, sir. But it's Chris." Chris, thank God, he has a name to put with the face. Chris steps out of his briefs and Matt snatches them, leaving a pair of wide eyes to look up at him.

"You get someone to wash your fucking underwear. My mother calls every week to remind me to wash my underwear," Matt says.

"I promise I will," Chris pleads, looking up again. Reaching out in a swift motion, Matt grabs Chris by the cock. At the whimper he gets in return, Matt smiles but lets go so he can wrap Chris's legs around one of his own.

"You do whatever you want, but try and stay hard."

"Okay. I will."

Matt shuts off. Shuts off his brain, puts his life on idle and concentrates on just Chris's erection sliding against his thigh. It's been a long day. A long month. Working the pumps at the gas station doesn't pay well and his hand is lonely without thick, hard plastic in his palm. Maybe it's a good thing he likes to fuck guys, then. At least he can get something thick and hard to learn the lines of his hand.

 **07.05:** _The ceiling is as blank as his head and it goes on and on._

Morning filters in and Matt finds Chris breathing softly in his sleep, strands of brown hair stretching across his open mouth. There's a guy he knew, Judah, back at an old job who once smothered his girlfriend with a pillow while she slept. Matt is guessing now that it's probably because he saw how beautiful she was then.

So Matt grabs Chris's cock and jerks him until Chris is fucking his hand and he's coming warm and wet, his eyes opening and his mouth spilling over with apologies.

"What the hell do you have to be sorry about?" Matt demands.

"I fell asleep in your bed, I didn't make you come, I'm so pathetic and horny that I just came when you jerked me off in my sleep, I—"

"Shut the fuck up." Matt gets up for the bathroom. "Don't leave this room."

"I have places to go, sir, I am so sorry—"

"I asked for a night. It was already morning when you got in here. You don't leave until I get my night, understand?"

Chris whimpers the same way he did last night and shakes, a scabby tangle of loose bony limbs. "I understand," and as far as Matt's concerned, what the hell else can he do?

 **11.45:** _The sky is as blank as his head and it goes on and on._

Crawling under a small table to get into Matt's mini fridge, Chris is bent in half and his little tight ass is in the air, cock and balls hanging underneath. This is entertainment. Chris rummages around until he finds the Saran-wrapped pizza slices Matt wants for lunch and when he comes back out, they eat them together. Because he feels guilty, Matt decides not to divide the pizza evenly; instead he takes three slices and lets Chris have five.

"You're nice," Chris says softly.

"When I want to be," Matt drawls, draping himself backward over the pillows. The clunk-clunk in the background is Matt's washer, one of the few expensive things he owns, cleaning Chris's outfit. "You look damn good naked."

"Thank you." Chris beams and spreads his legs so Matt can reach over and palm his cock, wondering whether this is really any more detached than masturbation. He lets Chris get off and then sends him off to the bathroom to wash up with a slap that leaves Chris's ass red.

Matt chews on his last pizza crust.

 **14.50:** _His notebook is as blank as his head and it goes on and on._

Chris's clothes are clean and Matt has them hung over the air vent to dry. They flap back and forth like old women's conversations.

Licking at a pen stain on the back of his arm, Chris balances on a pile of books and pillows on Matt's bed.

"Here's Scorpio," he says, drawing stars on the ceiling and connecting them. "I'm a Scorpio."

There's a stirring in the back of Matt's brain—Scorpios are lust, sex, desire. He watches the bones in Chris's ankle when Chris balances on his toes to reach the furthest star and briefly wonders whether he could feel something.

"My birthday's the end of June. What am I?"

"Cancer," Chris says almost before he's done answering the question. "Not like the disease. Like the crab."

"Why the fuck is it a crab? Is that supposed to say something about my personality?" Matt kicks his feet up from the chair where he's sitting so they can rest on the edge of the bed.

"I don't think so." Chris lowers the pen and starts sucking on the ink end—it must be involuntary because in a moment he's pulling it out of his mouth in disgust and spitting into his palm. "I mean, do I remind you of a scorpion?'

"You don't have to do any more stars if you want to," Matt says softly. He almost doesn't want Chris to, because he'd owe him something, wouldn't he?

"My Mama taught me where all the stars are and if that's the only thing I can remember then I might as well make some use of it. You know I know nothing. You know I don't even know how to clean my own clothes. But I know where all the stars are."

While Chris goes merrily back to doodling constellations on the ceiling, Matt's nails curl into his palms and his feet curl into themselves.

"You have an erection," he spits out from a mouthful of gritted teeth. There was probably a time when Matt could get excited from something that stupid, too. But he feels jealous, at least—that's the start of something.

"I'm sorry." Chris bows his head.

"Don't be fucking sorry!"

"I'm sorry for being sorry."

"Shut the fuck up and draw."

"Okay. Okay."

 **17.30:** _The street is as blank as his head and it goes on and on._

They're lying on the bed eating leftover Indian food, Chris wrapped in a towel—his clothes will be dry by about ten, Matt figures. Matt is shirtless and Chris is cleaning up whenever curry drips onto his chest, sucking at Matt's nipples and collarbone.

"Why do you do it?" Matt asks.

"Lick you?" Chris is the picture of innocence, his eyes wide and his bangs all falling in them.

"No! No, I mean why do you—why don't you get a different job? You're good looking, you could get laid even if you worked checkout. I mean, obviously it pays, but there's so many risks."

"I go to the doctor once a month," Chris says defensively, lower lip curling in a pout.

"You're still not answering my question. Can you hand me another samosa?" Chris does.

"My Mama did. That's how I was born. I don't know who knocked her up."

"So you want another kid to grow up the way you did? That's fucking insane." He bites into the samosa, spice filling his mouth and burning in the back of his throat.

"So I knew everything about this before I started. So I grew up in the city and so maybe I wanted to know why that whole orgasm thing was so great anyway." Sauce drips onto Matt's neck and Chris's lips are there almost instantly.

"You sound like a little kid. How old are you?" Above Matt: Libra, the Scales. "I don't even care if you're illegal."

"I'm twenty-seven, and I could talk just like you and say fuck every other word if I wanted, but people like when I act the way I do, and I like to make people happy." Matt laughs out loud, harshly, but then he grins like he's crazy and he kind of means it.

"You are a fucked-up human being."

"I'm aware."

"I'm twenty-five."

"I thought you were older," Chris says, eyebrows raised, "But you're probably as young as you feel. That's what a lot of girls who turn tricks say. There are really old girls that act like they're twelve because guys get their rocks off to that and there are fifteen-year-olds who you think are in their thirties because most thirty-year-old women can only scrape at what they've gone through. Life is funny."

"I don't want to be older," Matt whines. He takes a big bite of his samosa so he can be sure that the tears welling up in the sides of his eyes are only because of the spices.

 **21.10:** _His vision is as blank as his head and it goes on and on._

"Baby," Chris croons. "Baby baby baby it's okay, I'll hold ya, it's okay, cry all you want, it's okay baby, it's okay honey, it's okay, it's okay."

"I'm getting snot all over you," Matt says, muffled against Chris's chest, fingernails digging into Chris's back, tears streaming out of his puffy eyes.

"Baby. It's okay."

 **23.40:** _His future is as blank as his head and it goes on and on._

Chris rubs his sleepy eyes before running his tongue down Matt's chest and sucking on his hip bone. Matt wriggles underneath him, unspoken words on his lips, and Chris moves his head down so he can bite and suck and lick circles into Matt's thighs, poking at the sensitive skin at the bottom of his hips.

Making tiny noises in his throat, he urges Matt's hips up and Matt moves dutifully, letting Chris lick at the base of his cock and he's hard god he's hard he's hard it's so good.

"Come on," he whispers, and Chris sucks at the skin between Matt's cock and his balls. A low noise pushes its way out of Matt's throat and Chris pushes Matt's hips up further, so Matt has to fold his legs at the knee.

Gripping Matt's knee for balance, Chris flicks his tongue over Matt's entrance and then in, fucking Matt with his tongue. And this is something Matt's never asked anyone to do, because honestly, who'd want to? But he wonders why, because god, that's good, "That's good," he groans, and Chris pushes deeper. "Fuck me, can you fuck me, you're gonna fuck me can you please fuck me?"

"I don't—" Chris says against Matt's inner thigh. "I don't do that. Usually. Only if you really want."

"I'll pay you extra, I swear, just please fuck me."

So Matt finds a condom and lets Chris use Matt's lube on himself and guides Chris's hands to his hips so he can rock into him.

"Be as rough as you want," Matt mumbles. But Chris evidently doesn't want to be all that rough, and that's okay, because there's this sweet slow burn and then there's the head of Chris's dick rubbing against Matt's prostate and he's not sure how much longer he can hold out.

Chris wraps a hand around Matt's cock and jerks it up and down. When Matt comes, he's in fucking tears again and how stupid is that? But then again, who's going to see him except Chris, so he just lets himself sob and sob again.

"It's night," he says with a deep breath once he's confident enough to form words. "You're done here."

After Matt throws water on his face to clean up, not even daring to look in the mirror, he helps Chris back into his clothes and shoves what was the beginning of his savings for next month's rent money into Chris's hand.

"Look, I don’t care what you do with yourself," Matt says, "But if I had the choice, I'd make you go somewhere—hop on a train, get out of here. Get out of Gastown. Go to—I dunno, go to fucking Halifax or something. Get out of here."

"I'll try." Chris gives Matt a silly smile that could be anywhere on the spectrum of pitying to meaningfully sincere. Whatever it is, it's a start. "Thanks for washing my clothes, by the way. I'll make sure to save quarters for the Laundromat."

"Good," Matt says. "Good," as Chris is walking out the door. Matt follows him and stands on the balcony, watching Chris's back as the boy runs for the elevators, admiring his ass. And then when he can't see Chris anymore, he looks up.

 **00.00:** _His head is as blank as—_


End file.
